


Part 1: Of Nightmares, Bourbon, And Chain Smoking Old Cigarettes

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: The Synth And The Sentinel [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blind Betrayal spoilers, Character fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit And Gruesome Descriptions Of Radiation-Related Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Far Harbor (Fallout 4 DLC Location), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Nuclear Option, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Same-Sex Marriage, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-endgame story of Danse and my SoSu's relationship, including the synth version of Shaun. WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This narrative contains graphic and disturbing descriptions of a character who dies of extreme radiation exposure from a mini-nuke. I drew inspiration from the images/descriptions of the Chernobyl firemen, so if you are familiar with those, you know what you're in for. If not, consider yourself warned that it is a horrific death scene which may be triggering for some readers with sensitive stomachs. I will post warnings before that chapter so that those who wish to skip it are able to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how other people would feel about this, but I gave Danse a first name because I think it's stupid that his boyfriend would refer to him by his last name. That just makes no sense.
> 
> In case you missed it in the tags, spoilers for Blind Betrayal in upcoming chapters.
> 
> **I know I'm probably not the best writer in the world, but I have put a lot of effort in to stay faithful to the personalities of the characters who aren't my own creation. So please keep that in mind before commenting. Purposely hateful comments are not allowed.

_Almost before he could react, they appeared at the edge of the room, their ugly faces wearing that incessant grin and the white plastic bodies of their rifles gleaming in their metal hands. And of course, the civilian was behind the glass, in the control area._

_He opened fire on them at the same instant as they opened fire on him, blue energy beams spanking off his T-60 power armor while the red of his laser rifle speared towards their skeletal bodies. But he already knew that the synths could easily overwhelm him._

_“Don’t just stand there! Do something… anything!” he screamed over his shoulder in the direction of the control area. “There’s too many of them!”_

_“Like what?” the civilian shouted back, his almost-panicked voice muffled by the glass._

_“Push a button! Push everything!” he yelled, not knowing what else to say. If the civilian ran to him now, by the time he got all the way around, the fight would already be lost._

_The energy beams from the synths’ institute rifles continued to beat against the metal plates shielding his body, and he could feel them heating up under the barrage. Sweat dripped from under his hood, down his nose and into the corners of his eyes. He winced and tried to clear them._

_A roar caused him to look up, and in spite of all his combat experience and training, he was overcome by a wave of fear as the gush of flames poured down on him._

 

*

 

Ex-Paladin Jacob Danse sat bolt upright in his bed. His skin was sticky and the sheets were drenched with sweat, and in the darkness all he could hear was his pounding heartbeat and panting breaths.

Whipping his head from left to right, Danse searched for any sign of hostiles, but his warm brown eyes found only the small bed a few feet away, the gangly form sleeping in it, and some junk electronics mingling with the toys scattered across the floor. The boy stirred after a moment and sat up as well, rubbing his eyes. The sleeves of old pajamas a size too big slid down around his bent elbows.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked, noticing his surroundings.

“Shhh, it’s okay Shaun,” Danse whispered, feeling his adrenaline beginning to ebb. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Shaun mumbled groggily, laying back down and rolling over so that he was facing the wall.

Danse glanced over to his right to where Anthony, Shaun’s father, peacefully slumbered. As always, he was mumbling indistinct words in his sleep, though in the morning he wouldn’t remember his dreams. Danse envied that.

Moving slowly so that he wouldn’t disturb his boyfriend, he climbed out of bed, stretched, and threw on a pair of beat-up fatigue pants before leaving the shack. He guessed it to be about 03:30 based on the sky, and the feeling of the damp sand under his bare feet calmed him a little.

Before the Brotherhood of Steel had exiled him, he’d been diagnosed with PTSD as the cause for his insomnia and constant headaches. The nightmares were the worst, though, plaguing him often during the few times he was even able to fall asleep. He’d never told anyone about them except Anthony. Before that, nobody had known his suffering.

Kneeling and reaching down, he dipped his trembling hands into the frigid seawater and splashed his face, squeezing his eyes shut and spitting. Soaking his neck and thick black hair, he sat down with his feet in the surf, feeling the froth from the salty water lapping his ankles and the ends of his pants.

At least tonight’s nightmare was one of the less common ones. It had been about his first mission with Anthony, in the ArcJet Systems building. His power armor had saved him, and afterwards Anthony had joined the Brotherhood as an initiate.

A Sentinel now after the destruction of the Institute, Anthony was one of only three people in the Brotherhood that knew Danse was still alive. After all the missions and general hell they’d been through together, when it was discovered that Danse was a synth, he’d refused to execute his companion and had even convinced Elder Maxson to let Danse live.

It had been the worst thing to happen to him, realizing he was a synth and that his whole life and identity were a lie. He had memories of childhood, adolescence, that were completely made up by someone else. He had no idea what was real anymore. The loss of his sense of self was many times worse than any of the battle wounds he’d sustained.

But, in a twist, it had also been one of the best things to happen to him. When Anthony had found him holed up at Listening Post Bravo, Danse had been sure his comrade was dead-set on executing him as per Maxson’s orders. But against all logic, the Knight repeatedly refused to shoot him, and had convinced him not to commit suicide as a last resort.

Maxson, of course, found them out as they exited the bunker. Dance wasn’t even allowed to argue his case, but Anthony had refused to back down, proclaiming defiantly that if Danse was killed then Maxson would lose two officers. Surprisingly, the Elder gave in and allowed Danse to live, though not without a great show of contempt.

The amount of loyalty, bravery and determination Anthony had shown by defying his commander to save his best friend was foolhardy and bordered on ridiculous. But it also made Danse realize how close they’d truly grown and how much Anthony truly meant to him. He knew he’d love Anthony forever for that.

Closing his eyes, he recalled that moment, when they finally came to grips with the true depth of their bond. After letting loose the amount of fear, uncertainty and self-loathing he had for himself, Danse had nervously admitted how close he felt to Anthony, not knowing if it was faulty programming or something else. And nothing could have felt better in that instant than when Anthony had also professed his love.

They sat down and were quiet for a while after that, not even sharing a kiss, but just leaning against the wall and holding hands with the sides of their heads resting together.

“How come you’re out here?”

Though quiet, the question startled him and he jumped, landing with a splash on his side in the surf. It was only Shaun, he told himself over and over again. Meeting the child’s eyes, he climbed to his feet and brushed wet sand off his right shoulder.

“You snuck up on me, kid.”

“Yeah… someday I want to be in the Brotherhood too, so I should practice now I guess,” Shaun shrugged.

Danse felt a twinge of sadness. The ten-year-old was actually a synth, like him, but Anthony hadn’t told him the truth yet. Shaun had been reprogrammed by Anthony’s real son just before he succumbed to cancer so that he would think he really was Anthony’s offspring, and as such believed he was human.

“Why didn’t you return to your resting?” Danse asked, sitting back down on a drier patch of sand, still facing the boy.

“I wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Nothing of any great importance, sorry,” he replied with a slight smirk. “I just... don’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

Shaun plunked down beside him.

“Can I ask a question, Jake?”

“Alright.”

“Did you… you know… know my mom before she died? I was just a baby when it happened, I don’t remember her. And it makes me feel sad. But I don’t want to ask Dad because I don’t want to make him sad, too.”

“I’m sorry, Shaun. I didn’t know your dad until a few months ago when he assisted me with a series of missions. He told me some quantity of information about your mother, but I’ve never encountered her in person.”

“Oh.” The boy’s disappointment was clear in his voice. “I know you’re a synth, but did you have a mom? You’re not like most of the synths I saw at the institute. You look human like me and Dad.”

Danse sighed.

“No. And even before I knew I was a synth, I always believed I was an orphan. The memories I ha-they installed,” he corrected himself, “never included parents or relatives. Just me.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was sometimes… I never really knew it until I met your father. And because of him, I don’t have to be lonely anymore, just like you. Alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Now come on, you should resume your slumber.”

Ruffling Shaun’s hair and standing up, Danse led him back into the shack and watched him climb into bed. He reached over and pulled the blanket up to the boy’s shoulder.

“Jake?” Shaun whispered as he started to turn away.

“Yeah.”

“In the morning will you teach me to be a soldier, too?”

Danse sighed.

“Maybe. We’ll talk about it with your father. Good night, Shaun.”

“Night.”

Quietly, he left the shack again and wandered along the beach. Gopher and Zach, the two pit bulls, were sleeping with their paws and noses twitching, and Dogmeat was sitting next to one of the half-empty food bowls. He wagged his tail a couple of times when Danse scratched his ears on the way by.

Sitting on an ancient bench facing the sea, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The lulling back-and-forth of the frothy water over the sand helped him start to feel a little less uneasy, and as he lowered his cigarette he took a deep breath through his nose to take in the smell of the salt.

Nights like this were why he even smoked at all. Before he’d joined the Brotherhood (if that part of his life had even happened, that is), he’d only shared an occasional cigarette with his friend Cutler. But now he went through at least a pack a day. Anthony smoked too, but not nearly as much, maybe four or six a day on missions and three at home in Far Harbor.

Before it was discovered that Danse was a synth, Anthony had lived out of the Prydwen like any other Knight. A quest to find a missing girl had led them to Far Harbor in Maine, and after finding it to be relatively safe and one of the few places left in the world that had natural beauty to it, Anthony had built a shack there that he would occasionally spend a few days at in between missions.

Now, it was their home full-time. Anthony had chosen it over other settlements because of the risk Danse was in if the Brotherhood ever caught him. The other reason was Shaun; he wanted his son to live somewhere that was virtually peaceful, and Far Harbor was the most peaceful place they knew of.

Blowing smoke out towards the horizon, Danse was glad that he lived here. It was quiet and soothing, away from the incessant conflict in the Commonwealth or the threat of imminent death in the Capital Wasteland. The stiffness of healed wounds hurt less here, he felt like he could breathe easier.

But of course, almost nothing could help him sleep well. His most common nightmares were of old injuries and past battles, or more recently the danger of execution at the hands of Elder Maxson. But the ones that truly terrified him were of something that hadn’t happened.

Sometimes, he dreamed of Anthony dying.

He’d once told his boyfriend that if he died, he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t like thinking about it, but often did, especially when Anthony was out on Brotherhood missions without him. He didn’t know how he could cope if something happened to Anthony. He didn’t even know if he’d be able to accept being alive in that case.

Shivering, Danse jerked himself away from the dismal thoughts. He took another drag from his cigarette, still watching the ocean and wishing he could just sleep normally. He was desperately tired.

Rubbing his eyes and snuffing out the cigarette butt in the sand, he laid down on his back on the bench and stared up at the stars for a while. Once, he knew, humans had been able to go back and forth between Earth and space almost as much as they liked. But now they were bound to the planet.

He dozed off and on until the sun came up, at which point Anthony came lumbering out of the shack in his beat-up Brotherhood fatigues and still looking half asleep. Anthony sat down heavily beside him and they both lit cigarettes.

“Bad dreams?”

“Yes,” Danse admitted, smoke streaming out of his nose. “The ArcJet building.”

“Have you tried eating stew before bed? Radstag stew especially, it puts me right out.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Danse took another drag. “When I woke up, Shaun saw me and asked me to train him to become a soldier. I told him we would discuss it. What are we going to do?”

Anthony shook his head.

“What _can_ I do? My son… the human one… I never had the chance to raise him. Now that I have this second chance, I realize it’s not even a real chance. Eventually he’ll notice that he’s not getting bigger. But I just can’t tell him… he’ll be crushed…”

“If you wait until he figures it out on his own, he’ll be even more crushed,” Danse pointed out. “Look at that girl we were sent to find, she discovered the truth on her own and panicked. I know you don’t want that for Shaun. And he’ll be much more crushed if he realizes what he is and then finds out we knew but didn’t tell him.”

They were silent for a long time. As Danse was lighting another cigarette, Anthony spoke.

“How do you think I should tell him? I mean… it happened to you the most horrible way possible. How would you have wanted to find out?”

“Well… I would never have _wanted_ to find out. Honestly there is no good way to tell him. But I would start out by saying that no matter what, he’s your son and you love him. That to you, he’s human. Similar to how you said it to me.”

“You’ll help me tell him?” Anthony’s voice betrayed a hint of desperation.

“If you want me to. I’ll help you through this,” he promised, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

He felt Anthony relax at that.

“I’ve been thinking about Acadia too… maybe Shaun will want to be with them when he learns the truth.”

“Maybe he will. Maybe it would be… good for him,” Danse struggled to say. He still hadn’t fully come to terms with being a synth, and his Brotherhood training was ingrained deeply. It was difficult to overcome his instinctive contempt. “Just be there for him. And I’ll be here for you.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Anthony said softly.

They shared a brief kiss, then Danse took another drag of cigarette. He hated craving the feeling of a campfire burning inside his lungs, but there wasn’t much use in him quitting, especially because it soothed his nerves sometimes.

“Are you going out on a mission today?”

“Maybe… I haven’t decided. I want to spend time with you and Shaun… but so many people depend on me… God…”

“If you have too many things to do, I’ll look after Shaun and I’ll see you by the end of the week like normal,” Danse shrugged. He coughed before taking another drag. “I’m sure Dogmeat won’t mind the exercise.”

The beginnings of anxiety crept into his mind. He never liked it when Anthony left; alone, or with Dogmeat, Danse wasn’t there to watch his back, provide covering fire. To protect him from enemies and comfort his sadness. To love him.

“What are you thinking about?” Anthony queried. Danse turned to face him.

“You,” he admitted. “And how… you’re alone out there. I’m helpless here, waiting, and thinking today is the day you don’t come back… that I can’t defend you. And that if you don’t come back… how naked I’ll feel. The incompleteness. If I lose you… I don’t know what I’d do…”

Dropping his cigarette into the sand, Danse turned to embrace Anthony. The comforting hug melted into a long kiss, and when it ended Anthony reached up to cradle the sides of Danse’s head in his palms. Their eyes met.

“Jake. You know me. I’ve been bitten on the neck by deathclaws and survived. I’ll be in my power armor with my combat rifle, and besides… you’re coming with me.”

“What’s the mission?”

“There isn’t one… it’s just… something I’ve been feeling the need for. But don’t worry.”

“You know I only worry because I love you,” Danse replied, and despite his exhaustion and anxious thoughts he managed a small smile.

Anthony smiled back: “I know, I love you too,” and they kissed again.


	2. The Need For Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse despairs at Anthony's emotional turmoil, feeling helpless to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I first posted this chapter I accidentally skipped the entire first sequence. Wow am I clueless.
> 
> A little bit of smut in this chapter ;) It's at the end, though, so it's easily skipped. This chapter unfortunately has quite a bit of exposition, but I promise things get more interesting later on.

“That’s where I used to live,” Anthony remarked, pointing.

It had taken them the better part of two weeks to reach Sanctuary Hills from Far Harbor. Between the boat nearly getting capsized on the way, hordes of feral ghouls and increased BoS patrols now that the Institute was no longer taking up their attention, they’d had plenty of difficulty during their slow trek across the Commonwealth.

As they’d gotten closer, Anthony had been steadily talking less and less. Danse had noticed the growing air of gloom and regret around his boyfriend, but hadn’t said anything until now. When Anthony pointed towards Sanctuary Hills, he at last felt the need to bring it up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly as they made their way side-by-side through the thin scatterings of dead trees.

“Just…” Anthony sighed through the grille of his T-60F helmet. “You’ll see.”

“If you want to talk, I’m here for you,” Danse offered, trying to console him.

Unsettlingly, Anthony stayed silent. Danse tried in vain to swallow his mounting concern. When they walked straight past the demolished little suburb, Danse felt that his growing suspicion of their destination was all but confirmed. As they climbed to the top of a hill to the sight of an enormous gear-shaped plate, he knew without a doubt why Anthony had come here.

“Just stand on it, there’s a button with a time-delay,” his boyfriend informed him before going off to presumably operate it.

Feeling uneasy, Danse obeyed, and within a few moments they were steadily descending deep into the ground on the massive elevator. When it had lowered completely, a rusted metal grate ground open with a screech so that they were able to step off onto the main Vault platform.

Moving slowly inside, the only sounds to accompany the clomping of their metal boots was the skittering of an occasional radroach inside the wall and the steady dripping of condensation from the pipes overhead. Stepping around the skeletons they infrequently encountered on the hall floor, eventually they entered a central room with metal chambers lining the walls.

Anthony immediately went to the end of the row of pods, but Danse stopped to investigate one briefly. Peering through the semi-frosted glass, he could see a frozen corpse in a stereotypical blue Vault suit still sitting in the chair. Horrified, he stepped back and joined his boyfriend at the end of the row.

Of all the pods, only one was open, and it was empty. But Anthony wasn’t paying attention to it. He instead stood stock-still before the pod across from its vacant counterpart, his combat rifle hanging loosely from his fingers. Even fully enclosed in his power armor, Anthony’s despair was unmissable, and without looking Danse immediately knew who was inside the pod.

“Anthony… I’m so sorry,” Danse said quietly, his voice trembling as the weight of his boyfriend’s anguish crashed down onto him as well.

As if in a stupor, Anthony didn’t reply, but pulled off his helmet and slowly reached out with his free left hand to stroke his armored fingers over the glass window. Letting his arm fall to his side, Anthony hung his head and a single tear rolled down his nose. He was silent for a very long time.

Danse also pulled off his helmet, watching the Sentinel lean in slowly to rest his forehead on the metal pod. Danse wanted to say something-anything-but he somehow felt that nothing would be right. It felt like an eternity before Anthony even moved besides blinking, and Danse wanted to leave this horrible place but knew that his boyfriend needed his presence. So he said nothing. But finally Anthony was ready to go.

“I’ll never forget you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet that Danse could barely hear it.

Those four simple words were weighted with such emotion that they said more than ten thousand words could hope to explain. Danse ached at the sad expression on Anthony’s face as he turned away and slowly began making his way toward the exit. He hoped he would never see his boyfriend look so defeated again.

 

*

 

Night was falling when the platform once again rose to the surface, so they camped in Sanctuary Hills for the night. Danse could see that this was only feeding Anthony’s sad feelings, but the next closest settlement, Abernathy Farm, was contracted by the BoS as a food supply, so they couldn’t risk it.

The steady patter of drizzling rain on the metal roof added to his gloom as he unpacked their bedrolls onto the floor. Their suits of power armor stood inert against the back wall, within reach in case of an emergency. For right now, they were unprotected.

Anthony was sitting quietly in a corner, clad in the orange and gray BoS jumpsuit/hood combo with Brotherhood-painted combat armor over it. Danse, in contrast, wore battered military fatigues and standard combat armor, his head bare. No longer in the Brotherhood, he’d found more comfortable attire.

Sitting back on his heels, he growled at his sore muscles and stiff joints. Unlacing his boots and shrugging off his chest plate, he piled his armor and rested for a moment on his bedroll, facing down and breathing into the old fabric. After the day they’d had, he wanted to lay down with Anthony for a drawn-out session of passionate and tender lovemaking, offering sincere comfort in the only way he knew how. But Anthony surely wasn’t up for it.

Rolling onto his side, Danse intently studied his boyfriend. Anthony was pulling down his hood around his neck, showing dark hair cropped to the perfectly curved shape of his skull. His face was angular, watching the world with tired eyes that were such a dark shade of brown they were almost black like his hair. His skin was pale and his cheeks were hollow, dark circles swimming under his eyes. He looked like he could curl up and die at any moment.

They were roughly the same height, but where Danse was built powerfully and muscular, Anthony was quite thin. Even the combat armor could barely disguise his near-skeletal frame. He wasn’t weak, though; if anything he was made to be very agile and smooth-moving. Selfishly, Danse’s thoughts connected this back to sex.

The guilt he felt kept his libido in check. Anthony was in a hellish place right now. He needed emotional comfort, not physical stimulation. Danse moved to sit beside Anthony, gently cradling him.

“Hey,” he murmured, “do you need anything?”

Anthony shook his head wordlessly against Danse’s shoulder. They stayed like this until Anthony could barely hold his head up, and Danse lay beside him until he fell asleep.

But of course, sleep wouldn’t find Danse. The headaches were back, making it feel as though a frag grenade had exploded just behind his eyes. He drank water, applied conventional painkillers, and eventually even a stimpack. Nothing worked, and he knew it wouldn’t. His efforts to stem the pain were always fruitless.

He wracked his brain in a desperate attempt to distract himself. He remembered… the first time he’d met Anthony, the loner had been a fairly unimpressive sight, clutching a beat-up pipe rifle and wearing improvised armor over shredded military fatigues. But he could put down ferals well enough, which was what had prompted Danse to take the chance on him.

It didn’t take too long for Danse to recognize the extent of his discipline and potential to become a significant presence within the Brotherhood ranks. Anthony had practically bled steel from the beginning, just like him.

For a while, after the mission in ArcJet Systems, they’d only had sporadic contact. But once the Brotherhood had arrived in force and Anthony had relayed the heartbreaking details of his quest thus far, Danse had felt it his duty to bring this seasoned combatant into the fold. He deserved no less.

Under his tutelage, Anthony proved over and over again that he was resourceful, intelligent, charismatic, and a force to be reckoned with when clad in T-60 armor. But even more than that, he was compassionate. He believed strongly in the mission of the BoS after the turmoil he’d suffered, seeing his family fractured in the face of technology gone too far.

Danse didn’t remember when he’d started to realize the full extent of his feelings for the other soldier. Was it during their trek through the Glowing Sea the first time, nimbly avoiding encounters with deathclaws and radscorpions? Was it when Anthony had volunteered so zealously to construct whatever he needed to for the re-activation of Liberty Prime?

He’d known Anthony was growing fond of him before he’d admitted to himself that the feeling could be mutual. He’d started to have his suspicions before then, not because the Knight had been acting peculiar, but more as a gut feeling. The moment that had confirmed it was when Anthony had constructed a fully-operational teleportation device that would enable him to infiltrate the Institute.

Danse had watched his comrade-in-arms climb onto the gleaming platform, energy beams pulsating between the oddly-shaped columns that formed the wave generator. They’d shared a long look, knowing that if even the slightest calculation was off, it would all end in disaster. For once, Danse could not follow his brother and provide backup.

The instant before the teleporter powered up to complete the experiment, their eyes had met to share a long look, both realizing that they might never see each other again. The angst and uncertainty overshadowed even his desperation to find Shaun, and though it was only for a split second, this had revealed everything.

One day, then two, then five, and Anthony hadn’t returned. To those who knew Anthony, he was well-liked for his even temper and genuine concern for his brothers, and even Danse began to feel the panic while he attempted to quell it within his ranks. Maybe that was when he’d begun to love Anthony, because he would never be able to express the relief and joy he felt when the Knight emerged back into the Commonwealth.

It hadn’t lasted for long, as Anthony had returned exhausted and broken upon learning the truth about his son. They’d sat on the Prydwen all night, Danse watching his friend drink himself into a stupor, smoking cigarette after cigarette right in a row. All the while, tears rolled slowly and infrequently down his face, though he was silent the entire time.

The force of anguish hit Danse again at the memory of that night, reigning him back to the present. After everything, he feared Anthony would forever be a broken man, even if it was in some small way that was tangible only to him. Embittered at the unfairness of it all and sorrowed for all of Anthony’s suffering, Danse could only pull him closer.

 

*

 

When Danse woke up the next morning, he was surprised that he’d actually rested; he didn’t remember falling asleep. Opening his eyes to the warm sunlight of 07:00, he stretched slowly, deliberately, trying not to jostle Anthony into wakefulness. Yawning silently, he hesitantly sat up and climbed from the floor to pull his fatigues back on over his body.

Adjusting his briefs so that they were centered again, he fastened his pants and went out onto the dewy grass barefoot. Lighting a cigarette, he looked out at the peaceful horizon, though knowing the calm was an illusion. Somewhere in the Commonwealth, whether near here or far, something was killing something else, for food or for survival or simply out of cruelty.

Heavy thoughts cloud his mind. He knew he would always protect Anthony, whether beating back monsters or taking raider bullets to the metal of his armor. But he also knew that he couldn’t save Anthony from himself. The Sentinel’s mind was always troubled, laden with the weight of the world which he could not possibly hope to fix all on his own.

Tenderness, love and understanding were the only weapons he could wield against the dark seeds of doubt and sorrow that were infecting his boyfriend. For all that he was skilled in tactics and the usage of weapons, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling helpless in the face of such an insidious onslaught.

When the cigarette burned down to the filter, Danse pressed the ember hard to the underside of his arm. Hissing, he squeezed his eyes shut, taking in the pain. It was all he could do to punish himself for his shortcomings. Anthony deserved so much better than him. Someone who could save him. Someone who could make him whole again.

Dropping the butt to the ground, he lit another cigarette, staring at his hands while he took in a long drag. His hands. He used them for everything; maintaining his armor, wielding his laser rifle, prying apart scrap components and pleasuring his boyfriend during their intimate moments. But he could not force back Anthony’s pain and fears with them.

His arms, too. He held the Sentinel tenderly to reassure him, firmly to protect him, lovingly to fulfill him. But there was no way to hold Anthony that would shield him from guilt and sadness.

Sinking to his knees, Danse was overwhelmed with the worst feelings he’d had since Maxson had driven him from the Brotherhood. What good was he, then? He was helpless to stop the destructive emotions his boyfriend was enduring. The force of despair that he felt then was nearly enough to cause him to burst into flames.

Struggling to pull himself together, he quietly slipped back into the house without waking his boyfriend. Rummaging through the meager supplies he’d brought for this endeavor, Danse’s huge palm enclosed around the smooth, cold object he’d sought. Returning outside, he put out the second cigarette butt on his arm, making a twin to the burn mark.

But he found no solace in pain. So he could only turn to his bourbon as a remedy to the stabbing guilt in his chest. He sat down in the dirt as he unscrewed the cap, mouthing the bottle and swallowing a burning gulp. Sighing, he stared bleakly down at the glass container in his hand, swirling the liquid in slow circles.

“Jake…”

He wasn’t surprised to hear Anthony’s voice whisper his name. He took a moment to turn his head, meeting his boyfriend’s gaze.

“Hey.” He climbed to his feet, screwing the cap back on. “What’s your emotional status?”

“I just want to go home,” Anthony replied, his voice tired and still somewhat pained from yesterday. “I just want to be with Shaun… Jake… why are you drinking?”

“Guilt,” Danse answered, half-whispering and looking away.

Anthony gently reached out and took the bourbon from his hand. It was a known fact that, while Danse didn’t drink often, when he did it was because the pressure was just too much and he would put away so much of the stuff that he bordered on alcohol poisoning. Poisoning himself to drown out his inadequacies. This had been true ever since he’d joined the Brotherhood.

Like always, Anthony could read him like a book: “No. You don’t have to fight anything for me, I promise. Just be here with me, like you always have. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, all he could do was hang his head in the shame that his boyfriend had seen him like this. Trying to force it back, he reached out and pulled Anthony to him, just holding him as lovingly as he knew how. Their foreheads rested on each other’s shoulders. Danse stroked the back of Anthony’s neck where his short, fuzzy hair ended.

“Just be here with me,” Anthony repeated, slightly muffled by Danse’s tunic. “After everything I’ve already done, I’ll… I’ll get through this too. It’ll be fine.”

Danse didn’t know what to say, but he also got the feeling that he didn’t really _need_ to say anything right now. In the end he only had four words.

“Anton, I love you.”

He used the pet name he had for his boyfriend, alluding to some distant heritage Anthony had that he’d tried to stifle in the years before the apocalypse. Danse didn’t really grasp its significance, but he liked to call him Anton sometimes.

“I know,” Anthony replied, shifting to kiss him for a long, comforting moment. “I love you, too. Let’s go home.”

Collecting their things and climbing back into their power armor, they left Sanctuary Hills and began heading in the direction of Diamond City. It was a risk, but necessary; they were running short of too many supplies to make it back to Far Harbor.

Creeping along through the trees as they tried to avoid the many mutants that might seek to pick a fight with them, Danse remembered how Anthony had described the pre-war world to him. These forests had once been beautiful, even more beautiful than Far Harbor’s misty landscapes. Flowers in full bloom, soft green leaves everywhere and sunlight dappling the earth through them.

Danse couldn’t picture it. His mind wasn’t enough to understand such a beautiful, safe world. In that beautiful, safe world, Anthony would cuddle Shaun while listening to the radio, Nora sitting by him. Danse would have never existed. Shaun would grow up with his father, a mimic of Anthony’s perfect mix of smooth logic and and tender compassion.

Shaking his head, Danse could see a small group of radstags far off in the distance, but nothing else and certainly nothing close by enough to attack them. This wasn’t unexpected, really. The further north one got from the Glowing Sea, the less danger they were in.

He nearly cringed thinking of that wretched place. He’d only had to cross it twice, but twice had been more than enough. Even once would have been more than enough, really. Nothing for miles but burned earth and scorched trees, and inhabited by radscorpions and deathclaws.

Even with the Rad-X, they’d sponged up plenty of rays. Danse was used to exposure from “hot spots,” and was able to mentally cope with the beta-burns that infrequently marred his skin for a week afterwards. Knowing the truth now, he realized that his lack of other symptoms were due to his nature as a synth, but at the time he’d thought that being born in the Capital Wasteland had toughened him against the radioactive threat.

Anthony had not been so lucky. He’d barely had strength to cross back over on the way out, and as soon as they were on “safe” ground a Vertibird had to be called in to carry him back. He’d lain in Cade’s office for more than two weeks after that, vomiting uncontrollably and with an IV of RadAway as his constant companion.

Danse, though occupied with a few minor duties, had spent most of his time there as well, watching Anthony recover. Most of his skin had suffered very mild beta-burns, but his feet and hands had needed to be bandaged to protect the damaged flesh. He’d bled from his mouth, nose and ears often, as well as coughing it up and urinating it.

Mercifully, Cade had pumped him with so much Med-X that he slept through most of it. This and the influx of stimpacks kept him pain-free and docile, so once Anthony had made it back to the Prydwen his suffering was kept to a minimum. A couple rounds of Addictol afterwards had scrubbed him of any dependency to the powerful narcotics, and he was ready for his next mission as though it had never happened.

The second time had worked better, after several mods and careful calibrations to his power armor. So when he’d come looking for Danse at Listening Post Bravo, his skin had barely been pink.

Those mods, though. Anthony was so smart with his hands. Danse couldn’t help but smile, thinking of it. Even before they’d been together, he’d sometimes watched Anthony working aboard the Prydwen, customizing something to his liking: a piece of armor, his combat rifle, the rusty pipe wrench he would beat ferals to death with. Danse still loved to watch him work this way, so focused but content.

“Jake?”

“Hm.”

“When we get back, I want to show Acadia to Shaun. I think we’ll go there to tell him everything.”

“Fitting,” Danse observed. And it was. “Having grown up in the Institute, it will give him a unique perspective and expand his mind.”

“He still doesn’t know some of the things the Institute did… God, I’m going to have to burden him with that at the same time. Tell him that he’s one of the only good things that came out of that place.”

“There are _any_?” Danse blurted before he could stop himself.

“Without them, I wouldn’t have you,” Anthony replied, leaving him speechless.

The were silent for the rest of the day, eventually stopping at the now-empty Boston Mayoral Shelter. Anywhere else would be too close to Cambridge. They didn’t go all the way inside, though, because they could get lost. Setting up their beds by the elevator (which Anthony had temporarily deactivated; God, was there anything he couldn’t do?), they blocked the hall with their power armor and settled in to rest.

Danse laid down on his side, reaching out to pull Anthony into the warmth and comfort of his chest. Curling together, Danse kissed his boyfriend’s head before resting his chin on top of it, feeling the other man breathe against him. He closed his eyes and sighed peacefully through his nose.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Just a mishap with a cigarette.”

“Twice?”

“Well…” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, Anthony. I needed a distraction. I couldn’t help it.”

“Why didn’t you come talk to me?”

“I thought it would just make you feel worse… and you needed the rest. It was a moment of weakness.”

“Please don’t do it again, Jake. Don’t hurt yourself. I don’t care what’s going on or if I’m sleeping or not, I’ll never judge you, just listen. Because I’ll always take care of you, just like you do for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “After… well… visiting her grave… I just felt like nothing was right. I couldn’t help you. But…” Danse stopped, then growled in frustration. “Fuck. I don’t have the right words. The words are never right.”

“It just hurts so much when you want to help me and you don’t think you can.”

“Yes. Yes, it does. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just having you with me makes it better, even by a little. All you ever needed to do to help was just love me.”

“I do,” Danse murmured, tilting Anthony’s head for a brief kiss. He couldn’t help a small smile. “I do, so much.”

Their mouths met again, shifting to a more comfortable position and holding each other as tight as they could. Danse closed his eyes. They were melting into each other, growing and cultivating the desire for intimacy. He could already feel certain blood vessels expanding, making him need to press up against Anthony.

After that he didn’t do much thinking, just revelling in the sensations-of the hand sliding down the front of his fatigue pants, of their mouths and tongues working, of his cock leaking through the opening of his foreskin. The feeling that it needed to be special. That it should be.

So he took his time, tenderly kissing down Anthony’s neck to his collarbone. Reaching up through the bottom of the stained white undershirt, he played his hands softly over skin a shade paler than his own, feeling the ridge of bones, toned muscle, the occasional scar. And the goosebumps under his fingertips.

They shifted so that Danse could pull Anthony’s shirt from him. Sliding the ragged fabric away in a series of smooth movements, Danse kissed his collarbone again, then down to his chest, lightly sucking on his sternum between his lean pectoral muscles. Anthony’s fingers were in his hair, massaging his scalp, his his own hands gently held his boyfriend’s hips.

God, but he was perfect. Even the handful of scars on his arms and torso just served to make him all the more beautiful, enhancing the image rather than damaging it. And yet somehow, ex-Paladin Jacob Danse, a freak made by delusioned scientists with technology that should not exist, had sole rights to this impeccable human specimen. Such a wonder.

He slid back for a moment to take off his own shirt and toss it aside, then rolled Anthony onto his back to massage his pecs. His boyfriend smiled, reaching up to stroke the scar over his right eye.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Anthony commented. He traced the many scars on Danse’s chest and stomach, landing on the tattoo of a combat knife from when Danse had completed his power armor training so long ago. “How could you _not_ have a boyfriend before me?”

“I…” He stopped to think about it for a moment. “I haven’t loved anyone like this before. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Even joining the Brotherhood didn’t make me feel as good as you do.”

Danse slowly rested his weight onto Anthony and kissed him again, another long moment of contact. Reaching down, he slid his hand under the waistband of Anthony’s boxers, to his balls. Through the kisses, Anthony smiled.

“You’re too good to me, Jake.”

Danse chuckled.

“Only because I have you right where I want you.”

They kissed again, then Danse stood so that he could kick off his boots and free himself of the dirty green fatigue pants. As he slid out of his briefs in the same movement, Anthony shed his boxers as well. And then they were just rolling on the sleeping bags, kissing and rubbing on each other, building up to it.

Some sleazy place in Goodneighbor still sold lube. Anthony hadn’t really gotten into the details, but apparently there was a way to make it out of mutfruit. So of course, the stuff had an odd purple tint and smelled like fruit. His fingers, first. One, then two, eventually a third. The Institute had made him well-endowed.

He was careful, gentle, knowing exactly how hard to push and where. Soon enough, Anthony was ready, but he held off until his boyfriend was practically begging for his cock. At this, he coated himself in a generous slathering of lube, and slowly, perfectly, slotted home.

“God, you’ve gotten so good at this,” Anthony panted, digging his fingers through Danse’s hair.

“Because you’re perfect,” he found himself purring back with an uncharacteristically big smile. “So it drives me to be perfect for you.”

He moved in a particular rhythm, making absolutely sure that he hit Anthony’s prostate with every stroke. It didn’t take much to bring Anthony to the edge, but when Danse knew it, he slowed, barely moving, just to keep him there but not let him go over. To make it last. He was escalating too, fuelled by how good he could make his boyfriend feel.

Danse was moving again, building a wall of ecstasy for Anthony that would be brought crashing down at its peak. So close. He just needed to hit that one nerve cluster just right. And he executed the maneuver perfectly: Anthony made a noise like a bark as the air burst from his lungs, sticky discharge ejected onto his body.

Just the sight of it was too much for Danse. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his throat, his eyes squeezing shut and his hips spasming of their own accord to push himself in as deep as he could go. Oh God, the sensation was amazing, he’d done everything just right.

Breathing hard, he collapsed his full weight onto Anthony, not even pulling free first. For a long moment they just lay there like that. Danse could have fallen asleep just like this, still inside his boyfriend no matter how soft. He didn’t want to move.

After an extended kiss he got up with a growl of effort. Still trembling from the rush of endorphins (or whatever was tickling the circuits in his brain), he pulled a piece of scrap cloth from his pack to clean himself with. It was actually one of a pile that he normally used to service his weapon and dispose of, but it was fine for this too.

Once he was dry again, he curled up in the bedding with Anthony, sharing sweet kisses and holding each other. They didn’t ever need to say anything afterwards, because whatever there was to say, they already knew.


	3. A Physical Symbol Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse is further tormented by his PTSD-induced nightmares and breaks down.

As always, he woke up drenched in sweat, sitting ramrod-straight and searching for hostiles. And, again as always, there was nothing. As soon as he realized he was safe and started to relax, his hands flew up to cover his face and he choked back the scream that had been rising in his chest. Thank God, thank God, it had only been a dream. Anthony was still laying beside him, peaceful and unaware in his subconscious.

Shivering with leftover tension and fear, Danse climbed to his feet and threw on his clothes. Digging into his pocket for a cigarette, he sat down against the wall by the elevator, repeating to himself that it had only been one of his hideous nightmares.

_He’ll die because you’re a synth, the mirelurk tells him._

_No. He won’t die, I love him too much, Danse argues. I’ll save him._

_It’s too late, the mirelurk insists, pushing its face to the ground so that the mini-nuke stuck to its back can fall off. You’re too late. He’ll die._

_NO! Danse tries to scream, but the warhead goes off. Somehow, he doesn’t feel it, only sees the water dripping from the pipes above him. And yet Anthony takes the full blast. He collapses. NO! Danse screams again, trying to get to him but not able to see him anymore._

_Anton! I love you! Come back! I’ll save you!_

_But then Danse turns, sees that he’s run too far. Anthony is behind him._

_Anton, Anton, don’t go, I’ll save you, he begs as he falls down and reaches out._

_But as soon as Danse touches Anthony, the Sentinel’s body comes apart in his hands._

Smoke wafted to the ceiling in broad curls from the end of the cigarette as he sat, contemplating his horrific dream. The image of his boyfriend disintegrating under his fingers stuck in his mind, refusing to let the last ebbs of fear leave his mind. Instead, they slid to the corners of his brain, niggling him incessantly.

Leaning over slightly to scoop up the Pip-Boy from where it had been discarded earlier, he stifled a groan of annoyance when he saw it was only 01:37. He’d only slept for a couple of hours.

Setting the Pip-Boy back in its original spot, he instinctively reached for the bourbon in his pack. Just a sip or two, then he could calm down, maybe even go back to sleep. He didn’t even like bourbon, preferring beer or vodka, but bourbon was all he had. It would do. Beer with a cigarette, and an issue of Guns ’n Bullets that he could read, that was how he’d done things back in the Citadel.

Well. Not him. He didn’t even know if that was something he’d really done, or just something implanted in his mind. The thoughts put him down even further, and even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he knew he would probably drink a lot more than one or two sips.

Lighting a new cigarette with the still-glowing butt of the previous one, Danse scooped the bottle of liquor out of his pack with hands that still shook. He took such a greedy gulp that the burning almost made him choke; he tried not to sputter. It would wake Anthony.

“You’re still here,” he whispered, so softly he could barely hear himself. Another sip, a much more reasonable one. “You’re still here. I’ll protect you and you’ll always be here.”

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, or at least not in minutes. Instead he measured time with the accumulation of cigarette butts and the steadily lowering line of fluid inside the bottle. The walls swam around him, he nearly burned himself more than once as his incapable hands began to drop the cigarettes.

Damn. He was all out of cancer-inducing sticks of tar. Struggling to his feet, Danse made for his pack to see if he had more-and immediately crashed to the floor, doing a full face plant into the filthy cement. The impact shoved his lower lip into his teeth, and blood instantly began filling his mouth. He yelped at the pain.

“Jake?” Anthony questioned. Danse heard him roll over. “Oh shit, are you alright?”

Danse tried to get back up, drooling bloody saliva in red strings, but his arms were too heavy and he slid clumsily back onto his stomach on the floor. All he could do was moan.

“Okay, okay, it’ll be okay,” Anthony said, his voice alarmed. He strained to half-guide and half-drag Danse back into the old, thin bedding. “It’s okay.”

“Ra-ou-a-ci-ar-e-s,” Dance slurred, blood running down his cheek from the corner of his mouth.

“Shhh,” Anthony soothed, wiping it away with his thumb. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

And suddenly the scene from his nightmare leapt back into his brain.

_Anthony came apart in his hands._

Danse couldn’t stop himself from bursting into a fit of drunken tears, choking on his own bloody spit and coughing between sobs. With difficulty, his boyfriend pulled him up into a sitting position, lovingly rubbing circles on his back. All he could do was sit there crying, his arms limp at his sides, and beg Anthony not to go anywhere with half formed words.

 

*

 

Somewhere in the midst of it, though, he must have passed out, because when Danse woke up he felt demolished. He came out of the euphoric dark abyss of nothingness, thrown into the burning sack of blood that was his (all too familiar) hangover. His skull felt like it had been filled with battery acid, and even the rustle of cloth as he rolled onto his back was unbearable. He instantly regretted moving as nausea washed through him like a sickening tide.

Anthony’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Slowly, so slowly, he was able to _almost_  relax into his boyfriend’s embrace.

“Hey,” Anthony whispered, softly enough that it was only half as painful as the noise from the bedroll sliding around. “Do you need anything?”

“Water,” was all Danse could choke out, trying to force back the pain with no success. “Water. Blood in my mouth.”

Every noise-the quiet footsteps, jostling a pack to retrieve a can-was a new explosion of spikes inside his skull. He’d suffered bullet wounds that weren’t this incapacitating. Hell, he’d even been thrown into the side of a building wearing regular combat armor, and this was still worse. He writhed until he was on his left side, but it didn’t help any.

Something sharp rammed into his outer thigh, but it was only a tiny drop in a wave of suffering rolling through him. He didn’t even care about it until it all drained from him suddenly, immediately relaxing his muscles and causing him to sigh in sudden bliss. Almost involuntarily, he smiled, breathing in deeply to smell the air that was laden with old dust.

“Better?” came Anthony’s soothing voice.

“Affirmative,” Danse replied halfheartedly, still plastered with an idiot grin.

“Hey, sit up, you’re really dehydrated.” His boyfriend pulled on his arms lightly, but Danse’s whole body felt like his bones had turned to jelly. “Come on, Jake.”

“What is that stuff?” he asked, able to collect himself enough after a moment that he could do as he was told.

“Half a stimpack. The amount of liquor you drank last night would kill other people.”

A can of purified water was pressed into his hands, and he limply raised it to his face so he could drink. The water was stale and tasted like the metal container it was stored in, but at least it was radiation free and got the taste of blood out of his mouth. Swallowing it in great gulps, he didn’t even stop for air until he’d drank the entire can.

“I told you I wanted you to talk,” Anthony said as Danse set the can down. “Even if I’m sleeping. Why didn’t you?”

His voice wasn’t accusatory, just concerned. Meeting his eyes, Danse read only love and compassion. He leaned forward and kissed Anthony for a long time before he answered.

“The nightmares. I dreamed about… you dying. I was exhausted, and in a weak moment I succumbed to fear and attempted to subdue my mind with alcohol.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” The Sentinel’s hands came to rest on either side of his head, comforting him. “You know me. I’m invincible. What happened in the dream?”

“I don’t remember,” he admitted. “Just… something terrible. If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do…”

“You won’t,” Anthony replied softly, pulling him closer into a warm hug. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, almost crushingly tight. “I would never leave you. Not for anything.”

They just sat, holding each other, for a long time. Eventually Danse pulled away, but not before planting a kiss.

“Time check?” he inquired as he began strapping his combat armor to his body.

“Eleven-hundred hours,” Anthony replied.

“Damn, it’ll be morning by the time we get there.”

“Yeah,” the Sentinel agreed. “But early morning. Whatever Brotherhood soldiers might be sent there for resupply won’t have arrived yet.”

Climbing into his power armor, he felt remorse for the fact that the set he’d worn for the Brotherhood was still on the Prydwen, inert. Anthony had refused to wear it, to even move it, as his own way of protesting Maxson’s decision. Instead, he’d simply repainted the suit he’d originally been given on promotion to Knight.

The armor Danse had now was T-51F, painted and upgraded to perfection under Anthony’s skilled hands. Even though he missed his old suit, he still reveled in the feeling of being wrapped in a physical symbol of his boyfriend’s love every time he stepped into the new one. Truly, Anthony was far too good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been hungover, so I sort of had to ask other people to describe what it was like to me... so if my description is inaccurate, that's why :)


	4. The Black Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrived in Diamond City less than an hour before daybreak. It was unlikely that anyone from the BoS was present, but they couldn’t risk it. Danse ended up hiding in the All Faiths Chapel for the entire day while Anthony went hunting for supplies.  
> Sitting in a chair against the wall with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists, he couldn’t help the odd feeling of peace he had in this building. Maybe there really was a God. Faced with such a subject, though, he was forced to contemplate his existence, and concluded that if there was a God, the nuclear war wouldn’t have happened and he wouldn’t exist.  
> No. There was no God. Or at least not one worth praying to.

Anthony returned as evening was setting, laden with the food, meds and ammo they’d need to finish crossing the Commonwealth and return home to the shack in Far Harbor. Oddly enough, as Danse was getting up so they could leave, Anthony removed himself from his power armor.

“Is something wrong?” Danse couldn’t help but ask.

“No, just… hang tight. You’ll like this.”

“How can you make claims I’ll enjoy something when you’ve neglected to inform me what it is?”

“Trust me,” Anthony smiled back. He reached out and took Danse by the hand, then turned his head. “Pastor?”

Pastor Clements smiled as well, nodding at Anthony. “Did you find them in the market?”

“Yes. It took some haggling, but it was worth it.”

“Found what?” Danse demanded, thoroughly confused. “Is that why you took all day?”

“I found these,” Anthony replied, still smiling. He reached into one of the pockets in his BoS uniform and held out two small bands of gold for Danse to see. “I don’t know how people do it now… but before the war, people wore them to show they were married.”

Danse’s jaw literally dropped; he was dumbfounded and couldn’t think of a single response. Married? Anthony was marrying him? Impossible, Anthony was just too good for him. He didn’t deserve such a blessing. Finally, crawling out of his shock, he found words again.

“But… I… you’re… what?” he finally settled on. Finding words didn’t mean he’d found any that made sense when put together. It did lead to a more cohesive question, though. “Are you sure? Anton… I’m a synth… If the Brotherhood finds out…”

“Why would they?” Anthony shrugged. “I’m not going to tell them, and I’m certain you won’t either.”

How he found humor at such a serious prospect, Danse would never know.

“But… you’re really sure? And… is it acceptable for Shaun?”

“Shaun is the one who told me to marry you,” Anthony said, laughter in his voice. “He just came up to me while I was cleaning my combat helmet, and he said ‘Dad, you should marry Jake so that we can be a real family. We’ll all be so happy, then.’ Such a smart kid. But… hmm, maybe I should have actually _asked_ you first… but it would’ve spoiled the surprise.”

“Anton-” he started to say, but was cut off.

“Marry me, Jake?”

“Decorum-”

“Can blow me,” Anthony interrupted, still smiling. How could he smile so much? “I love you, you moron. This way you’re mine forever.”

“I was already yours forever.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“I… uh…” The grin was infectious. Danse felt it invade his expression as he was overcome with love for this beautiful, perfect man. “Alright. I accept your generous offer.”

“I knew you would.” Of course he had. He’d hug a deathclaw if Anthony asked him to. “It’s pretty easy, all we have to do is stand here and answer two easy questions.”

Pastor Clements chuckled at that. Still holding hands, they faced him.

“Alright then. Anthony Kostin, do you take this man, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in purity or mutation, til death do you part?”

“I do,” Anthony nodded.

“And Jacob Danse, do you take this man, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in purity or mutation, til death do you part?”

“Affirmative,” he nodded, unhesitatingly.

“Then by the power invested in me, I pronounce you husband and husband.”

Anthony slid the rings into place, one on each of their left hands, before subjecting him to a loving kiss. In that moment, Danse suddenly knew that after everything-the hard missions in the Brotherhood, the fear and trauma of losing teammates, finding out he was a synth, the worry when Anthony left for missions without him-it was all worth it, just to have this amazing man by his side.

 

*

 

“Ohhh…”

He could hear someone moaning nearby, poking into the thick curtain of black silence that shrouded his mind. Dimly, he became aware of something soft under his body. What was going on? Who was making that wretched sound? The moan came again. His ability to register his body came and went for what seemed like forever, and in the background he could occasionally hear voices, though the words were lost on him.

Eventually, he could feel himself again, move his fingers and toes. A voice nearby. The words still didn’t register, and when he tried to open his eyes, something held them closed. After an eternity, he recognized the feeling of clean bandages wrapped across various parts of his body. Shortly after that, he could feel all of his aching wounds. The moaning person was him. All he knew after that was pain.

“Anton?” he called out, his voice weak in his own ears. “Anthony? It hurts…”

One of the voices came back again, but it didn’t belong to his husband. He couldn’t help himself from crying out, reaching around with his hands in search of the Sentinel. He must be nearby…

Gently, hands forced his arms back onto the bed at his sides. Something was poked into his upper arm, and before he knew it he sank into the black haze again, where there was nothing and no one, not even his own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being a short chapter. Next chapter gets intense, and in the worst way possible.


	5. Needless Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse makes the hardest decision of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per warning at the beginning of this sequence, there is a gruesome death by radiation poisoning in this chapter. If you have a weak stomach or an overactive imagination that gives you tons of nightmares, you may feel free to skip to Part 2 (or if you don't feel like reading character fluff, straight to part 3).

When Danse woke up, he tried to remember what had happened. The only things that came to him were that they’d been on their way out of Boston, and somehow he’d been clubbed in the face by a behemoth. Other than that, the details escaped his mind. All he knew now was that his whole body hurt and that his mouth was as sticky as a toxic waste pit. Coughing and groaning, he reached up to rub his face, but his fingertips met gauze bandages over his eyes.

“Just relax,” someone murmured soothingly to him. “You’ve been very badly hurt, Paladin.”

“I’m not…” he started to say, then got confused. “Who are you?”

“Asher. I’m the resident medical expert, you could say. Though… I’m not much of an expert, just better than others. I had a lot of help from your scribe.”

“What scribe?” Danse asked, his voice getting stronger.

“The woman, she had a big guy with her in power armor. They dragged you and Kostin in on a pack brahmin.”

“What… no, it wasn’t… Haylen?”

“Yeah, Haylen. She said that when they found you, there was a pack of dead super mutants and a downed behemoth. Barely got your friend out of his armor. If they’d been even an hour later getting you here, you’d be dead.”

“Anthony,” Danse exclaimed, his mind clearing a little more. “How is Anthony? Please, I need to talk to him…”

“Later, later,” Asher replied, clearly trying to calm him. “You need to rest.”

Danse lost all his patience and found himself shouting a phrase his husband was fond of in difficult moments.

“Blow me!” He could feel blood rushing to his ears in frustration. “I want him here! Bring me Anthony!”

Danse tried to sit up, but massive metal hands forced him back onto the bed, causing his ribs to explode into searing pain. Gasping for air, all he could do was flop down onto his back, trembling in agony. Every breath felt like he was being stabbed in the side.

“Be still, Paladin,” came a filtered voice, obviously through a power armor helmet’s grille. Slowly, he realized in surprise that Rhys was the one who had subdued him. “Your body has been severely compromised.”

Danse couldn’t say anything for a long time, but when he recovered he asked again: “Where is he?”

“He’s nearby,” Rhys answered slowly. “Asher and Haylen operated and were able to stop the internal bleeding, but he suffered… what was it?”

“Severe head trauma,” Asher put in.

“Yeah. That. He hasn’t regained consciousness since we found him.”

Danse was shocked into speechlessness. They had to be wrong, he knew they had to. The Sentinel had been through so many worse things than just tackling a behemoth, there had to be a mistake. Nothing was tougher than Anthony.

Footsteps approached, along with a voice.

“I just came, is he still awake? How is he?”

Haylen. She must have been coming to see him at the listening post and found them that way.

“Scribe,” Danse croaked, all his strength having left him in disbelief that Anthony could be so badly hurt. “Please… they’ve got to be wrong… Anthony…”

She took his huge right hand and clasped all of her small fingers around it, gently squeezing.

“Sir… I’m so sorry… we’ve done what we could for him. I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice choked with sadness.

“No,” Danse protested, fear rising in his chest. “No. There’s got to be something else, some procedure, medications… you have to _do something!_ ”

He couldn’t help but scream the last two words, desperate to make them help his husband. In the back of his mind, all he could think was that this wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.

“We should let him see Sentinel Kostin,” Haylen said quietly, her voice laden with sorrow.

“He’s too weak,” Asher protested.

“No. You don’t know him like we do,” Rhys argued, agreeing with Haylen. “Danse is stronger than an alpha deathclaw on Psycho.”

“Alright,” the medic gave in. “But we’ll have to be careful.” He began speaking to Danse again: “Paladin, I’m going to give you some painkillers and remove the wound dressing from your head. Try to be calm. We’re going to bring you to your boyfriend.”

Danse was quiet for a moment before he corrected Asher.

“No,” he whispered. “We… when we were in Diamond City… we got married.”

The room was silent for a very long time after that. Rhys carefully held him up in a sitting position while Haylen administered a stimpack and Asher meticulously unwound the gauze wrap from his face. It must have been sticky with old blood, because he could tell it was harder and harder to remove the closer it was to his skin.

A long gash from his hairline diagonally crossed the bridge of his nose, ending at his left cheekbone and just missing the inside corner of his eye by a hair. Asher told him he was lucky not to have lost that eye altogether, but Danse couldn’t feel lucky. Not when Anthony wasn’t okay.

The wound was cleaned with some smelly disinfectant that burned on contact, and he breathed in with a sharp hiss. Normally he had more control of pain, but he was in so much of it right then that his usual stoicism was lacking. A clean gauze pad was put over the wound and fastened with medical tape, so he could at least make use of the other eye.

Opening it slowly, he looked down and saw that he wore only his fatigue pants. His whole chest was wrapped in several layers of bandages and his right knee was in a splint. How could he not remember anything that had happened to cause his injuries?

“We think you were knocked into an obstacle,” Haylen explained quietly, reading his expression. “You have five cracked ribs on your right side and your knee was dislocated. The behemoth must have swung you by your leg.”

“My face?” Danse inquired.

“The lense in your helmet broke and I accidentally gouged you taking it off.”

“And… Anthony?”

Haylen swallowed before answering.

“The behemoth was killed by a point-blank hit with a mini nuke. But… Sentinel Kostin was found less than a meter away from the body. His armor was ruined and… and some of the joints were melted together. We needed a blowtorch to get him out of it. The close proximity of the concussion from the nuclear detonation caused severe brain and organ trauma, as well as a critical level of radionuclide exposure.”

“But you gave him RadAway, right?”

“It’s not enough,” Haylen replied, her voice wavering. Danse could see tears threatening to well up in her eyes. “Danse… he took so many rads from that warhead… there aren’t enough healthy cells in his body. He… he won’t…”

“No,” Danse whispered, refusing her unspoken words.

She took a deep breath to steady herself before finishing.

“Danse, he’s going to… he’s going to pass on by the end of the week. There isn’t anything left. To fix him… God… to fix him, we’d need a whole other body.”

“But… he… you… no,” Danse refused, on the verge of collapsing back into bed. “You… what about the Prydwen? Maybe Cade… you could take him there… please, you can’t let him die like this… he can’t die like this…”

“I’m so sorry.” She was nearly choking on the words. “If I brought him to the Prydwen… Cade… could maybe help him live an extra week. But then he would just die alone, without you. And if he wakes up… he’ll want you with him.”

“Oh God,” Danse croaked, burrowing his fingers into his hair and pulling on it. “No… NO! IT’S YOUR FAULT IF HE DIES! YOU’RE NOT DOING ENOUGH! YOU NEED TO DO MORE! YOU’RE LETTING HIM DIE!”

Ripping out fistfuls of his soft black hair, Danse shoved Asher aside and sprang out of bed-only to scream in pain and collapse onto the floor as his bad knee gave out under him. Spasming from the torment of his injury, he just lay there on the grimy floor, gripping his hair again. His jaw clenched so hard he thought his molars would crack.

“What’s his first name?” Asher asked.

“Um, Jacob,” Rhys answered.

“Jacob,” came Asher’s gentle voice by his head. “Please, listen to me. We’ve done everything we could, I promise we have. But Anthony was too badly hurt, and he doesn’t have a lot longer. We’ll help you be with him, and we’ll make him comfortable. He won’t have any pain.”

Danse couldn’t summon an answer. The painkillers made him drowsy, slowing his mind. He didn’t want to move, or talk, or even think. To think would be to face reality. A reality he didn’t want. Anthony couldn’t be dying. That could never be his reality.

No.

 _You can’t die,_ Danse thought, his husband’s handsome face swimming into his mind’s eye. _You can’t die, Anton. You can’t die because I love you. Without you, I’ll die… please… no…_

“Paladin,” Rhys’ voice murmured into his ear, uncharacteristically gentle and measured. “Come on, sir. We’ll bring you to Anthony.”

Slowly, carefully, they got him to his feet. Leaning most of his 90 kilograms on Rhys with Asher under his other arm, Danse slowly and painstakingly made his way through the makeshift hospital. It was really a half-wrecked barn or something in Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, but when Anthony had helped build the settlement they’d patched it up as best they could and made it into their medical center.

Really, though, they only had about a room and a half’s worth of life support equipment, scavenged from the remains of old pre-war hospitals that still had anything left worth salvaging. With a pang of sorrow, Danse even remembered helping the then-Knight gather some of the machines and supplies out of Medford Memorial and the Mass Bay Med Center.

Haylen pushed open the door for him and Danse almost couldn’t bear to look. The radiation injuries after the trip through the Glowing Sea were nothing compared to Anthony’s state now-he was a mess of wound drains, IV lines, atomic burns and blood-soaked gauze. A half-empty bag of RadAway was slowly draining into his left arm, while EKG leads terminated on black, rotting skin.

One of his ears, it seemed, had completely fallen off. The place where it had been was covered by a gauze pad that was already saturated and leaking with blood and pus. His arms and legs were almost completely obscured by bandages that needed changing as well, though parts of his hands and feet were exposed. The skin was peeling off in sheets, a sickening yellow-brown revealing the dying bones and tendons underneath.

All of his nails and hair had already fallen out, leaving scabs, and he’d been intubated through the bandages that hid the lower half of his face. It seemed like nothing was left of the beautiful body he’d had, which Danse had caressed and held close. The sight and smell of this slow, torturous death was too much, and Danse pitched forward to vomit onto the floor.

Asher and Rhys caught him, holding him steady as his stomach forcibly emptied of its previous contents. The only thing that was worse than this hideous suffering was the realization that they hadn’t been lying. There really was nothing more they could do for Anthony except make sure he couldn’t feel his body coming apart in spite of itself.

“Oh God,” Danse moaned when he’d finished heaving. “Oh God.”

“Do you want to leave?” Asher gently implored.

Despite everything, Danse shook his head. He couldn’t leave his husband to die like this, alone with no one to comfort him.

“Alright. I promise, we won’t make you go. And we’ll do our best to keep him comfortable.”

This was of little comfort. Danse couldn’t say anything, couldn’t wrap his mind around it all the way. He couldn’t even cry. There was simply no response to the situation that would do this tragedy justice.

Danse was sat down to rest in a rusty wheelchair with his injured leg raised. As a synth, he was largely impervious to radiation, but Anthony was so contaminated that Haylen and Asher worked around him in HAZMAT suits that had been patched many times over. Even then they consumed a considerable amount of Rad-X first.

He watched in an immobile, silent stupor as they redressed Anthony’s wounds, switched the IV bags, cleared the blocked fluid drains. Everything was done meticulously, trying to limit their exposure to the radioactive threat that was his husband. It took almost two hours to completely tend to him, including mopping the contaminated blood from the floor.

Gingerly handling the metal buckets full of Abraxo and irradiated bodily fluids, Danse knew they would be dumped someplace far from Sunshine Tidings. After that they would scrub their HAZMAT suits and take RadAway themselves. But it seemed stupid and pointless if Anthony was only going to die anyway.

The wheelchair screeched with protest as he wheeled himself over to the bed. The mattress was deplorable; where it wasn’t stained black with blood, it was discolored orange from pus and lymph. Fresh blood was already dripping onto the floor, discolored. Danse was no medic, but he knew enough that he understood why this happened. The radiation had killed most of his blood cells already.

Even intubated, Anthony was already sounding off the beginnings of the infamous and dreaded “death rattle” from fluid trapped in his windpipe. Blood was leaking out of his remaining ear, while fresh pus wept from cracks in his burned skin. Danse fought another wave of nausea.

“Anton,” he whispered softly, reaching out to take the Sentinel’s hand. The dead flesh sloughed off at his touch, smearing his palm with slimy residue, but he did his best to ignore it and held on anyway. “I’m here. I won’t leave you. Just know that.”

“I can’t believe it’s ending this way for him,” came Haylen’s voice from the doorway. “I’m so sorry you have to see this, sir.”

Danse didn’t turn, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor showing Anthony’s vitals.

“You aren’t the cause of his suffering. Your apology is unnecessary. But… thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“If you want to be alone, sir... I can just leave you with him.”

Danse thought for a moment.

“No. You knew him, too. You’re welcome to stay and wait with me.”

Haylen pulled up a chair and sat down. She was bundled in a faded orange HAZMAT suit that had several repairs made to it with duct tape. There was even a crack down the side of the visor that had been bound back together at one point. Behind the glass, Danse could see that her eyes were clouded with remorse.

“Danse, I…” she started to say, but then lowered her eyes. He turned his gaze back to Anthony’s ruined form. “I know you’re sick of hearing me say it… but I’m sorry this is happening to you. You get knocked unconscious for three days and then wake up to something so awful.”

“Three days?” Danse whispered.

“Yes,” she answered. “When Rhys and I found you, I could tell that your injuries were fresh. It was just dumb luck that that caravan was nearby… we wouldn’t have gotten you both here. I didn’t know his rad poisoning was so bad until…”

“What?” he asked when she stopped.

“Sir-”

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I didn’t know it was so bad until his skin was left behind inside his armor.”

Stunned, he didn't know how he managed to choke out the next question in his brain.

“Why can’t you save him?”

“The… the marrow in his bones is dead,” Haylen stuttered. “He can’t make any new blood.”

“Can’t you use blood packs?”

“It’s not enough… his skin can’t grow back. His bones… his bones are just… falling apart inside him. And… parts of his organs… they’re just coming up through his throat… his lungs are leaking fluid. He’s drowning from his own lymph. That’s why… when I said… that’s why we’d need a whole other body to fix him. But really… even that couldn’t save him now. And it’s why all we can do is make it not hurt.”

Danse couldn’t bear to hear it and didn’t ask anything else. With another unwilling squeal he hauled himself closer to the bed in the wheelchair, reaching out his other hand to gently stroke the bandages on Anthony’s face. The backs of his fingers became damp with blood.

“Anton,” Danse whispered. “Anton. I… I wish you could wake up… I wish you could stop bleeding and heal… I wish you would sit up so I could just hold you. I don’t know where you are in there, or if you can still hear me… but I love you. Even if you… even if you can’t wake up and say goodbye… I just want you to know, that you… you’ve taught me what being close to someone really means. I’ll cherish that forever… even if you leave me now. I love you, Anthony. I love you.”

The swath of ruined skin hit the floor with a soft, wet slap as Danse let go of his husband’s hand. Reaching out, he rested his fingers on the side of Anthony’s decaying neck, feeling for the pulse there. More blood leaked slowly down onto the mattress.

“Tell me about when you got married,” Haylen softly enquired.

“I… we just stopped in Diamond City for supplies before going back home. On occasion, we’ve noted a mild Brotherhood presence there for the same reason. So I maintained a hidden position in the chapel by the entrance to the city. He… surprised me with it. Because his son thought we should get married. So… we did. It wasn’t a big event… but it… still meant so much.”

“Because he loves you, even though you’re… you know… not really human.”

“Yes.”

“He’s always loved you, sir.”

“I suspected as much. I knew of his emotions even before he informed me of their existence.”

“No, I mean it literally,” Haylen insisted. “Even before he knew it, after the mission at ArcJet, he loved you. I could see it in his eyes. He never said anything, he knew that the regulations prohibited romantic actions between Brotherhood members of unequal rank… but… he always wanted to be with you.”

“I knew,” Danse admitted, “because of the expression I saw on his face. Right before he was teleported through to the Institute. He looked at me the entire time… and for a second… I could tell. It was in his eyes. He knew he might not return, and he had a strong desire to explain to me how he felt… but not the time to do it.”

“What do you think you’d have done if he had?” she wondered.

“I don’t know,” Danse confessed after a long pause, shaking his head. “I realized I loved him before… before Maxson found me out. But I wasn’t ready to face this knowledge. I… I couldn’t bring myself to face it. I’ve never been able to easily get close to others.”

The thick rubber of her gloved fingers rested atop his shoulder in sympathy. Danse slowly pulled his hand away from Anthony’s neck, shreds of skin stuck to his palm by dead blood. It seemed like there was nothing left to the Sentinel but wound upon gaping wound, oozing sticky fluids. A body that was only covered by sopping bandages and ruined, cracked skin.

“We need to change his bandages again,” came Asher’s voice, muffled behind his enclosed visor. Danse hadn’t even heard the medic approach. “Maybe even the sheets, too. If he gets an infection he’ll just suffer more.”

“You'll do no such thing,” Danse growled, turning to glare at the medic with his one free eye. “If you can't help him, then stop your useless poking and prodding.”

“Sir-”

“No, Asher, he’s right…” Haylen put in. “I don’t think Sentinel Kostin would want this if he could tell us.”

For a moment, Asher just stood in a stupor before sighing and shaking his head behind the glass visor of his helmet and turned to check one of the hundred monitors in the room.

“Can he hear me?” Danse asked after a long stretch of silence.

“I don’t know,” Haylen answered. “We can try to wake him up… but if he does, he’ll only have a few minutes. Sir… are you absolutely sure?”

He took a moment to process this information. Anthony might never wake up on his own... but just a few minutes? That was all? The ex-Paladin swallowed hard, knowing how he would answer but not ready to face it. Depending on his answer, his husband would continue suffering needlessly and in the end only die anyway. Closing his eye, Danse's response came out in a near-whisper.

“Yes. Just let me say goodbye to him.”

Haylen and Asher shared a look, their bulbous helmets swinging back to him after a few seconds.

“Alright. Do you want to be alone, sir?”

“I would appreciate it.”

He watched them inject three stimpacks and half a dose of Psycho into Anthony’s IV line before leaving the room. Despite his knee, Danse was somehow able to haul himself up onto the bed beside his husband, being careful of the tubes and wires sticking out from under the bandages. Up close, the injuries were even more horrendous, which he hadn’t thought possible. Scraps of his orange BoS flight suit were burned into his remaining skin.

Danse only had to wait for a couple of minutes before Anthony’s eyes fluttered open. Tears or pain instantly began to fill them.

“Hey,” Danse whispered, tenderly stroking the gauze over his cheek. “Hey. I knew you were still in there, waiting for me.”

Because of the bandages and various tubes, Anthony couldn’t respond. Danse could feel his own eyes stinging, about to well up with sadness as he continued. He didn't realize it then, but this was one of the only time the right words had ever come to him.

“Anton, I know I’ve said this before, but I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever come into my life. I just wish I’d been better… you deserved so much more than I could ever give. All I’ve ever had to give you is myself… and I think you’ve always had that. I loved you even before I told you. I’ve always needed you. I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten married sooner. I know you won’t be with me much longer… and it hurts me so much to lose you… but before I had you, I was alone. I never thought there was room for anything in my life besides the Brotherhood. I’m glad I was wrong. I’m glad you reached me. Because I never knew what it was to love before you. I didn’t wake up for three days after the fight with the behemoth, but as soon as I could, I came here to you. And I’ll be here with you until the end. So… you don’t have to do anything. I won’t let them make you suffer anymore. Just… lie here, with me. And I’ll be here with you.”

His cheeks slick with tears and his body trembling from the effort of holding back sobs, Danse pulled Anthony close to him as gently as he knew how, feeling the sticky blood cover his arms. But he didn’t care anymore. Inclining his head, he planted a tender kiss on the bandage over the Sentinel’s lower jaw.

Slowly, weakly, Anthony was able to raise his arm to stroke Danse’s cheek in turn, leaving streaks of putrid blood in the dark stubble. Their eyes never broke contact, Anthony’s showing the immense pain he was in while Danse’s were dark with grief. Beset by silent tears, they both knew it was the last time they would ever look at each other like this.

In spite of everything, a quiet whimper escaped from Anthony, causing Danse to pull him closer.

“Shhh. Just rest,” he murmured with a shaking voice. “I’ll be right here. I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The lights in his husband’s eyes were slowly dimming, and Danse could feel his tears intensifying as the blackened lids closed, never to open again. The horrible death-rattle went silent at the same instant as the EKG sounded an unceasing line of noise, and with Anthony, part of Danse died, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yes. I really did kill my own character. Not because I hated my character in-game or anything, because I don't. I love Fallout 4 and I love playing Fallout 4 as Anthony Kostin. I just thought it would be a much more interesting story this way. I'm sure there are other fanfics that kill the SoSu, but I sure haven't come across them yet. Part 2 is character fluff that was based on the things I was thinking about while playing the games; it starts just before Blind Betrayal and ends with the fall of the Institute from Anthony's perspective with snippets thrown in from Danse's POV. Part 3 is immediately following the end of Part 1, again from Danse's POV and dealing with his emotional turmoil and the struggle to do right by Shaun. See you there! :)


End file.
